


One Year, Six Months

by dontcallmekoko



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drinking to Cope, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Break Up, Romance, Short Chapters, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:19:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3836821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontcallmekoko/pseuds/dontcallmekoko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takao breaks up with Midorima after dating for five years.<br/>This is the story of how they get back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. not for lack of love

Takao bites his bottom lip the way he only does when he's anxious and Midorima has to refrain from pointing it out. Even though he's nearly tearing it to shreds, this is hardly the time for something so trivial.

The two of them sit next to each other on their living room sofa, Takao slouched over and Midorima wringing his hands repeatedly.

"So..." Midorima starts again. He purses his own lips, mentally replaying the last thing Takao said. "You are suggesting we go our separate ways."

Takao sighs, though it's different from the sighs of irritation Midorima's become accustomed to in recent months. This is more... resigned than the others.

"I'm suggesting that we break up. Yes."

Midorima can't bring himself to look at Takao. Time seems to move at an impossibly warped pace, a terrifying mix of breakneck speed and absolute sloth. Those few words couldn't— _shouldn't_ —be able to bring an end to what he poured five years into. To what _they_ invested in.

"I... cannot say that I agree with that."

"Shintarou, it's not about agreeing or not. It _isn't_." Takao straightens up a bit and, even without seeing his face, Midorima can tell he is struggling to keep his composure. "I... We..."

Midorima closes his eyes, trying to block out the feeling of immense weight crashing down around him. "You don't have to explain it again. I understand."

"Then—"

"I _don't_ agree with it. But I do understand where you are coming from. I understand that this is coming from a place..." Midorima sighs, his words leaving him as soon as he thinks them. "You want to assure a healthy environment for the both of us. I understand that this may be what is... best for us right now. But—"

"I love you, Shin-chan. You know I love you."

"And I love you."

Takao takes a deep breath and Midorima hears it now—the tears. Takao's voice takes on that hoarse, choked quality he's only ever heard once before.

"You have to know I don't _want_ to—"

"I do. I know."


	2. 2 weeks

Midorima watches over Takao from the front door as stoically as he can manage while he gathers up the very last of his things. This is going to be his last trip back to the apartment. What used to be 'their' apartment is now just... his.

Midorima wants Takao to stop. Wants him to put that duffel bag down and say he's changed his mind. Wants him to turn around and kiss him. Desperate, clingy, demanding like Takao usually did when they made up after a fight. Those kisses always said 'that was horrible but it's over now and let's never fight again.'

"I'm all done."

Midorima abruptly stops his wishful thinking and looks at Takao. He's looking back at him, a friendly but weak attempt at a smile that does nothing to mask the hurt in his eyes. Midorima's chest feels tight, as if there's barbed wire in there completely twisting his heart to pieces.

"I guess this is bye," he says, shrugging pathetically as he prepares to exit.

Midorima grabs Takao's wrist. His grasp isn't strong, not even strong enough to withstand a slight tug if Takao were to pull away. He holds onto him anyway and, mercifully, Takao lets him.

"I..." What can he even say here? What will change what's already happening? Fix what already has been damaged?

"Shin-chan..."

"You're... _we_ are making a mistake."

* * *

"Thanks for putting me up. I shouldn't be in between places for too long. It's just... it wasn't my place to begin with, you know?"

"Yeah, I understand."

Kasamatsu observes Takao as he appears to search for something. Something likely misplaced in all the packing.

"So what exactly are you guys doing?"

Takao continues to scan his belongings as he pats down his jean pockets for the second time. "How do you mean?"

"Is it a break? Are you finished completely?"

"I..." Takao frowns and shakes his head, trying to only half pay attention. Not wanting to talk about that aspect of the break up specifically. "I can't say for sure. I mean, I _did_ move out."

"Are you two still going to keep in contact?"

Takao finally finds what he's looking for—a not-so-fresh pack of cigarettes. Glancing back at Kasamatsu, he asks, "Do you mind?" In lieu of words, Kasamatsu nods toward the ashtray on his coffee table. Takao whispers 'perfect' to himself under his breath before openly saying, "I'm sure we will. Obviously, nothing like before but we've known each other for ten years–I'm not planning on just, like, ignoring him."

Kasamatsu has his lighter out before Takao even turns to him with the old, unlit cigarette dangling out of his mouth. He doesn't say anything but the glint in his eyes translates as gratitude. They both sit on the floor, comfortably silent, and Takao thinks on how grateful he is for Kasamatsu's hospitality. He also notes how sensitive and gracious he's being, looks at him as he lights his cigarette for him. He's got a good face, better than when they were younger—maturity's treated him well and he's all 'alternative' looking now. Takao knows that under these circumstances six years ago, he would have flirted with him right here, right at this moment.

As he takes in his first drag of smoke in just over a year, he wonders if he'll ever flirt with anyone again. The idea alone feels foreign, wrong, unbelievable. He coughs a little on the exhale and immediately imagines just how much Midorima would disapprove right now.

Then his heart hurts.  
So he takes another drag.


	3. 3 weeks

"I heard from Kurokocchi... I have to say, I'm just shocked."

Midorima holds back a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose at Kise's fourth time admitting he is in awe over his break up.

"Yes, I know, Kise. Reiterating how surprising this turn of events is does nothing but agitate me further—is there another purpose to this phone call?"

"No, Midorimacchi!" A pause, then a light laugh. "I just wanted to check on you. How are you... are you alright?"

"I..." Midorima pauses. "That is a stupid question."

Kise sighs, the weight of it especially heavy through the phone. "That's fair. Just... call me if you need anything, OK? I never thought it would be you guys..."

"I'll keep that in mind." Midorima considers a 'thank you' to punctuate it but really just wants the phone call to end.

"Bye, Midorimacchi."

"Goodbye.  
"And thank you."

It's not even a full hour later when his phone rings again, this time with Momoi on the other line. Her heart's in the right place, her concern is genuine. And for whatever reason... speaking with her is the closest he's felt to feeling comforted at all in the last few weeks.

"You two were so good together, Midorin..."

"Right." Midorima doesn't know what else to say to that. He thought so, too. Still does. Couldn't ever think differently, in fact.

"I'm really sorry this is happening. Do you think you'll get back together??"

"I..." Midorima has thought about this more than anything else since the day Takao began packing. He bites back the words 'I hope so', for fear of sounding desperate.

For fear of jinxing it.

Midorima leans back against his chair, staring at the open book in front of him that just seems like a mass of black scribbles against white. It's moments like this where he misses Takao the most. It's illogical, wanting him to be here to comfort him through their break up but—if Takao were here, surely he would saddle up behind him, drape his arms over his shoulders, and nuzzle his head against the nape of Midorima's neck. Say exactly what he needs to hear. Kiss him on the cheek.

Midorima closes his eyes and takes a shallow breath despite needing to take a deep one.

"I don't know."


	4. 2 months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sry, I know these were originally supposed to be churned out quick (I've actually had this chap at 90% since May) but job stuff then family stuff then health stuff.
> 
> I'm gonna try to update all of my fics on a better timeframe for a while, though, so enjoy!
> 
> (I apologize for any typos, I'm doing all of my writing and editing on a phone and, on occasion, an iPad. Getting shit to format correctly on either is HELLA hard–did you know AO3 and IOS don't really get along? Neither did I!)

Two months is a short amount of time that can last ages under the right circumstances. 

In this case, it's been ages since Takao's seen Midorima. 

And ages since he's run into one of his friends. But really, it was inevitable and Takao knows it was.

Takao has rationalized to himself that this particular convenience store–the one a mere two blocks away from his ex-boyfriend's apartment, but a ten minute bus ride from his current place–is the only one that stocks his preferred brand of cigarettes. It's true, as far as he allows himself to know. He tells himself he just has a ' _feeling_ ' the stores near his apartment don't carry it.

It only makes sense when today, he sees a few tufts of light blue hair just barely peeking over a row of shelves.

He and Kuroko catch up; about work, about weather, about Kagami. It's all casual, pleasant, normal. Takao finds himself smiling a lot more than he has lately; he's always liked Kuroko.

"How are things with your new apartment?" Kuroko asks.

"They're fine!" Takao hopes the lilt in his voice at the word 'fine' hadn't been too desperate to assure Kuroko that things are indeed 'fine'. Things _are_ relatively OK at the moment but... Kuroko peers at him as he lets that unsure answer hang in the air; clear, blue eyes revealing next to nothing.

"I'm especially happy I was able to find a place so soon." Takao goes on, chuckling. "Granted, it's basically a closet compared to Shin-chan's place but... it was either move out ASAP or spend every night smoking and singing shitty break up songs with Kasamatsu."

Kuroko softly nods. "While I'm sure it was a bonding experience, that was probably for the best."

Takao is more than a little ashamed that he's gone from a strictly emergency smoker back to a habitual chain smoker over the short span of six weeks. Moving out had dented his savings quite enough without this additional vice added to his growing list of expenses.

...But when he misses Midorima, it keeps him occupied.

"I've also learned some guitar basics and gotten really good at harmonizing, though, so it was well worth all of the wallowing in self pity." When that earns a small smile from Kuroko, Takao smiles back in turn. Then his smile fades and he chooses to finally acknowledge it–the question he's had since he spotted him in the first place. "Hey, Kuroko?"

"Hm?"

"Have you heard from Shin-chan at all? He hasn't returned any of my messages in a while or... at all, really..."

When Kuroko doesn't respond immediately and just looks back at him with that baleful, blank expression, Takao lightly crosses his arms and tries again.

"I mean, I get it if he doesn't want to speak to me. Or if you can't answer my question!" His words feel pointless now; selfish, dumb. "I just was... under the impression that we _would_ keep up with each other. So... even if that's _not_ the case, I can't help but–you know..."

"Worry."

Takao smiles at having his sentence finished, but it doesn't take long for his vision to blur at the edges and his throat to shut. He... _knows_ it's not his place to ask anyone why Midorima hasn't spoken to him since he left. Especially someone like Kuroko—someone who rightfully could, maybe even _should_ be on his ex's side. He only knows Kuroko well enough to talk with him like this _because_ of Midorima, so hoping he would help out the person who hurt his friend the most...

Takao can't look Kuroko in the eyes anymore.

Instead, he nods. Just nods and swallows, hard.

* * *

"Midorima-kun."

"Yes?"

"How have the last two months been for you?"

Midorima's hand slows momentarily as he drags the dishcloth over the plate he's drying. His lips part, then close, as he ponders his answer.

Finally, redirecting his attention to the sink, he answers, "Difficult. But fine."

"Can I... Can I ask why you haven't responded to Takao yet?"

Midorima purses his lips and grits his teeth at that, at the sheer _surprise_ of that, holding onto his restraint so that he puts the plate away and doesn't break it in half.

He's angry at first–Kuroko had given his word that this dinner would be free of pity, that he could be the friend to count on to not incessantly ask if he was alright each time he paused between thoughts.

He hadn't known how fragile his friends thought he was until all of this.

The anger subsides into annoyance, though, and before he answers, he processes the question. It takes him a second but... how does Kuroko know he hasn't spoken to Takao?

His heart picks up suddenly and he fights to keep his composure.

"Why?" Midorima asks. There's an uncomfortable twist of pain and warmth in his chest, a sensation that slowly spreads. He keeps his back facing Kuroko because he is certain that he looks upset, knows there is no way he looks normal with the way his heart aches at just the sound of Takao's name.

When he knows for certain that he will at least sound disinterested, he adds,

"Did he ask?"


	5. 5 months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> break ups are hard...

"I pretty much don't even have the right to be as about ups— _as upset_ _as I am_ about any of this," Takao says, mentally congratulating himself for the mid-sentence recovery. The pint of beer in his hand comes dangerously close to spilling each time he moves. "I mean, I broke up with him. _I_ broke up with _him_ , for the record, for anyone who thinks it was the other way around."

Takao knows he's slurring when he's not paying attention. He knows it'll take about two or three more drunken complaints for the silence to go from sympathetic to uncomfortable. These are their _mutual_ friends. Takao broke up with him. _With_ _him_. He opens his mouth to say something more, but huffs instead. Opts to take a long, deep sip instead as the conversation finally turns back to sports or movies or whatever it is they're apparently talking about.

Later on, Takao's face is on _fire_ with how intoxicated he is—he keeps checking his forehead, thinking he might be running a fever. Miyaji finally pulls up in front of his building.

"Thanks, Miyaj—"

"How many nights have you been drunk this week?"

Takao's surprised by that question and functioning with significant beer lag. He blinks a few times, finally registering Miyaji's glare. 

"I know you went drinking with Kimura last night. And with Kise on Wednesday."

"...It's been a few." The glare intensifies. "Not, like,  _every_ night this week," he lies.

"Are you gonna be good for the rest of the night?"

" _Yes._ " Takao's trying not to be agitated by the concern, but he opens the door a little too roughly to be convincing, half-stumbling out of the passenger's seat.

"...Call me if you're..." Miyaji hesitates before cursing under his breath, then growling, "If you're not. Seriously."

Takao nods, smiling and shooing him away for emphasis. He watches him drive off, then steadily feels the energy drain out of him. He pops a cigarette in his mouth as the taillights finally disappear around the corner. A breeze picks up as he lights it and Takao turns his attention to the ember, transfixed by the hazy, orange warmth bringing life to his cigarette. He inhales deeply.

He'll be fine.

He's off tomorrow.

He's got his cigarettes. He's got another six-pack. He's got music. 

...Just fine.

* * *

Midorima wastes no time in picking up his phone when he hears the simple, monotone beep that means it's work.

"Midorima Shintarou's phone."

"Midorima. How soon can you be at the hospital—"

"Fifteen minutes." He rises from his desk and closes his laptop.

"Oh—really, fifteen? In that case, we'll brief you when you come in."

"Understood."

Midorima hangs up, takes a brief moment to smooth out his work pants, and then pulls his lab coat on. He briefly wonders if he should have at least feigned having just woken up... the last thing he needs is a superior asking after his sleeping habits.

The bed hasn't felt right in a long time. Books help time pass, but not as effectively as they used to. The internet is plenty interesting until his eyes begin hurting and his head starts throbbing.

If he can't spend his nights asleep, he might as well be working.

So a lot of nights, he changes into his uniform, sits at his desk,

And hopes the phone will ring.


	6. 6 months

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when the world fell out from under you and you're just now noticing...

Midorima has never spent more time at the hospital. ...That must be why it is almost physically painful to socialize in a setting outside of work.

Kise invited him to dinner ages ago, on several different occasions, but he'd managed to sidestep it each time, always busy or exhausted from work. However, when Momoi called him about dinner last week, he gave in; finally arriving at the conclusion that nearly four months of doing nothing but working and spending time at home was undoubtedly unhealthy, if not outright pathetic.

It wasn't until after he promised he would be there, however, that he was told it was a group dinner. And before he could rescind his attendance, he was issued a time, a place, and a date, and the phone call was over.

It's altogether pleasant, when he finally is there, and he's relieved it isn't a _large_ group—just himself, Momoi, Aomine, and Kise. Seeing Kise isn't really strange since the blond tends to keep in touch with everyone rather frequently, but Midorima hasn't seen or heard from Aomine in over a year... so that's interesting.

The conversations happen around him, though. It truly just feels so... foreign to be out like this.

"So, Ki-chan... when am I meeting your boyfriend?"

"Oh, yeah. Satsuki keeps going on about wanting to meet this dude."

Midorima is out of the loop for a moment before remembering; the last time he'd spoken to Kise about his personal life, he'd been dating a guy named Tooru, a fellow model. He'd seemed rather taken with him then, but Kise's expression reads as less than eager to talk about him today.

"Right, meeting Tooru..."

"Oh no!" Momoi gasps, looking worried. "Did you—"

"No, no! We're still together."

"Heh, that's impressive for you," Aomine remarks. Midorima agrees wholeheartedly but keeps it to himself. For the longest time, Aomine saying something like that would have been the height of hypocrisy, but he and Momoi have been going strong for years now.

Kise laughs, looking shy. "Yeah, we're getting close to a year. Things have just been rough lately. We're supposed to do this big thing for our first year anniversary but I'm kinda like... wah..."

"Kinda like 'wah'??" Momoi repeats incredulously. Aomine barely suppresses a snicker and does nothing for the amused look on his face.

"Well, it's like—! I know it's been a year, but we've also been on and off during it... It just doesn't feel like a full year to me."

"And each time you guys were 'off,' who made that call?" Momoi asks, crossing her arms.

"Me," Kise admits.

Aomine mumbles a _wow._ _  
_

"And it's been twelve months, hasn't it?" she asks.

Kise sighs. "You know that's not what I mean."

"He's justified in thinking of it as a year," Midorima says, finally weighing in. Although the table is clearly surprised he's finally spoken up about something in a way that wasn't just an affirmative nod or a disapproving glare, Momoi smiles. Maybe happy to have him on her side.

"I'm not saying we haven't been _involved_ for a year, it's just..." Kise sighs, clearly about to concede defeat. "OK, fine, I've been thinking about breaking up with him."

Momoi's voice shrinks as she says, "Oh no..."

"I honestly can't tell what he's thinking half of the time." Kise continues, looking a bit distressed. "Each time  _I've_ tried to make things more serious, he says or does something that... I don't know. I don't think he cares about me."

"How do you mean?" Aomine asks, sounding surprisingly even for the second-most aloof person in their circle of friends. Everyone's matured so much while he wasn't paying attention...

 "It's mostly stuff I didn't used to care about, but since I actually _like_ him, it _bothers me_ that he..."

Midorima tries to listen, he really does, but what Kise said resonates with him.

_'I don't think he cares about me.'_

 

Is it possible...

 

 

_Could he have thought I didn't care about him?_

_Could he have thought I didn't_ love _him?_

_No, of course not._

_That's ridiculous._

_He knew that._

_I made that clear._

 

He tunes back in for a second but the worrisome thoughts are running freely now and make it extremely difficult.

 

_I suppose I could have said it more._

_...Did I not say it enough?_

_Oh god._

_I didn't even respond to his messages after he left._

_But... no. It isn't completely my fault._

_It isn't._

 

"Maybe it's not that simple," Midorima says, cutting Kise off mid-sentence.

"What?" Kise's voice is trembling a bit and sounds surprised. There's also an openness in his eyes that indicates he's willing to listen. "What else could it be?"

"What about his perspective? What about _his_ potential losses?"

The table is quiet now and Kise looks stunned. 

"What if he's scared? Even to just admit that he's scared... what if he's just not ready ye—" Midorima stops.

Momoi and Aomine are staring at him, confused. Kise has tears in his eyes and looks a mix between concerned and _very_ upset.

" _Midorimacchi, what the_   _fuck_ _are you talking about??_ "

"E-excuse me," he stutters, feeling jarred from Kise's harsh reaction. He gets up and heads in the direction of the restroom, suddenly feeling ill.

 

 

Midorima's hands clench into fists against the marble sink counter top. He stares at the grey streaks and cracks amidst the bone white with gritted teeth and stinging eyes, fighting against the rapid spiraling descent his thoughts have become. All the pain, the insecurity, the regret comes surging back, everything he expected to feel but didn't these last six months.

He wants to cry. Probably needs to cry, but the last thing he needs is for anyone to come in after him--since Kise seemed pissed and Momoi's a woman, it's very possible  _Aomine_ would come check on him and... no. 

No, he'll just go home.

Leave his share of the bill at the table and go home.

 

 

After some deep breathing, Midorima returns to the table, counting the cash his particular dish cost. When he looks up from his wallet, however, he sees Momoi and Aomine already standing, gathering their coats. 

Kise's gone.

"I'll get the car, Satsuki."

Momoi nods.

"Bye, Midorima." Aomine places a hand on his shoulder, the gesture rough but obviously meant to be comforting. "Take care, man."  

 Momoi approaches him and sighs.

"Maybe this was too much after all..." she says softly, almost to herself. "Have you been alright? No one hears from you anymore."

Midorima almost answers that he's fine, absolutely fine, but he's just too tired to pretend right now. Momoi's always been skilled at seeing through his defense mechanisms, anyway.

"I don't really know, if I'm being honest. I work a lot to take up time but..." He pauses, unsure of what he means to say next. What is wrong with working? Since when has there ever been something wrong with working?

 

"I don't know if that's really living."

 

Momoi places a hand on his back and leans in against his arm. It's the most personal gesture he's experienced in months.

"You don't have to go through anything alone, Midorin. You have us. You'll _always_ have us. It's been years and everyone has their own lives now, but..." She sighs. "We will always support you. OK?"

Midorima feels his chest go tight. He keeps quiet but nods.

"Dai-chan's out front." Momoi hugs him. "Take care and call me if you need to."

"I will. Sorry about... thank you, I will."

 

Later on, he texts Kise an apology.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious as to what the fuck _Kise_ was talking about, he's worried his boyfriend's cheating on him. Hence, that reaction.
> 
> Is that Tooru as in Oikawa Tooru...? I'll leave that up to you guys lol.
> 
> We'll be checking back in with Kazu next chapter. You can just assume he was drinking during this month.


	7. 7 months

Takao isn't ready for this.

 

The room he wakes up in isn't his; the sheets and the arm draped over him are unfamiliar. His head feels especially groggy through the remnants of last night's drinking and his mouth is dry. Whoever this guy is, he sleeps like the dead, not even noticing when Takao practically heaves his arm off of him.

He finds his way to a bathroom, relieves himself, washes his face, and steals a swig of mouthwash. Back in the bedroom, he finds his clothes, throwing them on in the order they're discovered. His phone is in his pants pocket, thank god—but it's at a useless four percent. Takao briefly considers waking his host and asking to use a charger but really, _really_ doesn't want to deal with this dude. Who _is_ he anyway?

Wait, where is he right now? Did he seriously get in a stranger's car last night??

Takao pushes those troubling thoughts to the side for now, prioritizing his escape strategy instead.

He wasn't the only one getting smashed last night, so he tries to call the friend he'd gone out with—maybe he'll know where he is. His phone dies during the third ring.

" _Fuck,_ " he whispers.

Takao glances around, at a loss for what to do next but absolutely desperate not to talk to his one night stand. So he double checks that he got everything, does a silent prayer, and leaves the apartment, hoping he'll recognize the neighborhood he's in.

By the grace of  _some_ omnipotent being, he does. In fact, he's certain the bus that stops a few blocks from  _his_ apartment comes around here... and he's right. He ends up waiting about twenty-five minutes, wearing a hoodie and skinny jeans in 5am weather... but he's right.

Takao finds a seat in the back because the last thing he wants right now is any sort of unsolicited human interaction. Now that the bus is moving, he recognizes where he is in the context of this route: about half an hour from home.

 

He isn't ready for this.

 

Initially, he tries to sleep but despite it being unreasonably early on a Sunday morning, it won't happen. Instead, he begins thinking. He tries not to—good god does he try—but he's got thirty minutes of silent, bumpy road ahead of him and no phone to keep him preoccupied.

 

It takes about ten minutes to happen.

 

The feeling starts in his chest as an awful anxiety, a complete discomfort in his own skin. Then he becomes hyper aware of his immediate surroundings—the frayed seams of the upholstery in front of him, the balled up tin foil of a gum wrapper next to his shoe, the cacophony of an entirely empty bus.

Takao can feel it coming but he thinks he has it under control... until he feels heat well up in his eyes and finally overflow onto his face.

 

 

Fuck, he's crying.

 

 

He's crying. And he's crying because... Because...

 

He's turning thirty in a few years. Because less than a year ago, he didn't see himself here, like this. He saw himself stable and committed, having the privilege of waking up next to the man of his dreams...

Happy.

Not crying out of self-pity and heartbreak on the fucking bus with a dead cellphone, sticky and dirty, smelling like some random dude's sweat with only the vaguest recollection of the night before.

 

He wants a drink. Even though it's five in the morning, he wants a fucking drink.

 

...Does that make him an alcoholic?

 

Is... is that what he's becoming? 

 

What would Shin-chan think of him?

 

Smoking every day. Drinking every other.

 

This is pathetic.

 

 _He's_ pathetic.

 

Beyond pathetic.

 

Fuck...


	8. 8 months

All white... then blue as he gazes up at the sky from their rooftop.

Graduation's in two weeks. Midorima can't help being worried. Can't stop overthinking. Can't stop overthinking everything, including—

"Of  _course_ , we're going to keep in touch. Our schools aren't even that far apart, Shin-chan."

Takao's smiling and it's almost too bright, stunningly optimistic. Midorima has to look away because he feels his face growing warm. He fiddles with one of the buttons on his jacket.

A breeze rolls in.

"I'll be your friend for the rest of my life."

 

*

 

"The longer it takes," Takao says from across the table.

They're on their first proper date, waiting on their food at a café. Takao's blushing—actually _blushing—_ and tucks some of his hair behind his ear.

"The more you hurt me."

 

But his words don't match the moment.

 

*

 

Skin on skin. Shallow, stuttered breathing.

Trepidation.

Ecstasy.

"You'll buy a house," Takao whispers in his ear. "Move in with her... have kids."

Midorima kisses him and Takao moans, moans into it, pulls him in, drags his nails down his back.

 

"I'll be your friend."

 

"I'll just be your friend."

 

His voice is sweeter now, higher as he locks his legs around Midorima, as his body tenses.

 

"I refuse... I refuse! I refuse, Shin-cha— _ah!_ " Takao pants, his voice breaking on that precious nickname as he climaxes.

 

*

 

"For the rest of my life."

Midorima opens his eyes to a warm, loving gaze watching over him. His head lies in Takao's lap.

Takao runs his fingers through Midorima's hair, leaving behind lines of delicate comfort on his scalp.

This is the only thing that staves off the anxiety.

The only thing that assuages the pressure.

The only thing that really matters.....

....

...

..

.

.

.

 

 

"I'm trying to be understanding, but it's killing me."

 

Midorima glances down. 

 

They're in a department store, covered in, truly excessive, holiday lighting.

 

"I'm not your roommate," Takao says.

 

He brushes his fingers against Midorima's knuckles.

 

A salesclerk sees.

 

Midorima jerks his hand away.

 

Shoves it into his coat pocket.

 

He remembers that all too well.

 

The fight they'd had afterward was one of their worst.

 

.

.

.

 

Gently, he's shaken awake. 

 

“Who do you come home to?” 

 

There's a sunny smile on Takao's face.

 

It's his birthday.

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

Takao sits next to him, chewing at his bottom lip, biting so hard the color fades.

 

“It's _killing_ me.”

 

He's trying desperately not to cry as he speaks to his father over the phone. Midorima occasionally overhears the hostile tone through the receiver. He's never seen or heard anyone in Takao's family as anything but all smiles.

 

Midorima rubs Takao's back, intensely concerned.

 

It's all he can do.

 

 

.

,

.

 

 

“Do you have _any_ idea how that _makes me feel?_ ”

 

Takao,near tears again but not sad. Angry.

 

_Furious._

 

After one of the miai.

 

“ _You're_ killing me!” he yells.

 

 

Takao never said that.

 

 

Did he say that?

 

 

...Was he saying it all along?

 

 

. . .

 

"I can't do this anymore."

 

 

Sitting on the couch, eight months ago.

 

They sit there, silent.

 

 

They sit there. Silent.

 

 

They sit.

 

 

Until the silence becomes a cacophony.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Midorima awakes from the worst, most vivid dream of his life slowly, so slowly he isn't even aware he's waking up. It isn't until he realizes his alarm is going off that he understands where he is,  _when_ he is.

And although his first instinct is to shut off his alarm clock and begin his morning routine...

 

He reaches for his phone instead.

 


	9. 9 months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, it's been forever. Sorry.
> 
> Here, enjoy some pain.

Midorima is not the kind of person who procrastinates. He has never been. And since he lives in a time rife with an unprecedented number of distractions, this is a quality he prides himself on.

 

He is not a procrastinator.

 

...And yet, it takes him a month to call.

 

A month ago, almost to the day, he'd had a strong impulse to call Takao. An immensely strong impulse.

Then again, restraint has always been another of his most prized traits. He talked himself out of it fairly quickly.

 _It's five in the morning_ , he thought at the time.

_What are you going to say?_

_You need to calm down,_

_regroup,_

_choose your words with care._

_Then you'll call._

 

First, he convinced himself he'd call during lunch. Then, when his lunch break didn't even happen, he resolved to do it when he got home. Of course, once his shift was over, he was mentally and physically exhausted and the original concerns still held true.

 

_It’s two in the morning._

_What are you going to say?_

_You need to calm down,_

_regroup,_

_choose your words with care._

_Then you'll call._

 

This cycle—this procrastination—continues day after day, week after week, until finally, Midorima can no longer allow it to continue.

 

It's three in the afternoon.

Today is a rare day off, so he actually feels somewhat well-rested. He hasn't done a thing but read and eat all day.

He still has no idea what he’s going to say, but this needs to happen.

Now.

 

He's procrastinated long enough.

 

Heart racing, fingers trembling, he picks up his phone.

 

* * *

 

Lazing on the couch, Takao reads the label on the bottle of wine he's been drinking. It’s a gift from a coworker; an excessively elegant thank you for Takao filling in for him an entire week some time ago. It's an expensive-looking red, a syrah, zinfandel, and grenache blend bottled in 2013. The label is made of some paper that's meant to feel old, which Takao likes. It's fucking _strong,_ too, which is all that really matters.

Something in the back of his mind faintly nags at him that he shouldn't be drinking it so quickly but... booze is booze, after all. He's determined to treat this thing like he treats his beer—gone in one sitting.

He’s placing the bottle back on the coffee table when his phone rings, vibrating clumsily against the wooden surface. He keeps forgetting just how much he's had and always handles the bottle like it's mostly full, putting it down a bit too hard and causing it to wobble and sway, threatening to spill all over the table, the floor, the couch, his pants, ruining everything including his day off.

Once his phone is in his hand, he realizes just how severely he underestimated the wine. He must be _way_ drunker than he thought.

 

 

There is no way that caller ID is correct.

 

 

After a few hard blinks, he accepts that, even through the haze of alcohol, it really _does_ read 'Shintarou’. (He'd had to change it from Shin-chan long ago; scrolling past _that_  in his contacts for any reason had posed too much of a threat to any precariously crafted positive state of mind.)

 

Disbelief.

 

Confusion.

 

...Why now? Why not a million months ago?

 

Dread.

 

Did... something happen?

 

Something awful? Something so awful he had to call him right away?

 

Takao picks up. Shit, that was too fast; he forgot to think of a greeting, clear his throat, recalibrate his wine lag.

 

 

“Takao?"

 

“Takao? ...Are you there?”

 

 

“Y-yeah,” he answers, though not before using his sleeve to wipe a tear from his cheek. His brow is furrowed so deeply, so conflicted and focused on the sound of his name being said in that voice after nine long months of silence that his forehead hurts from the strain. Voice wavering, he repeats, “Yeah, I'm here.”

 

“Are you alright?”

 

His chest feels unbearably tight at that question. Obviously, he's just asking in response to his tone right now. But _everyone's_ been asking him that, for months at this point, and this is the first time he feels he might actually _want_ to break down from it. For the briefest moment, more tears well up in his eyes and he nearly lets it all out, almost starts sobbing and yelling and begging to start over.

 

He takes a deep, steady breath away from the receiver, exhaling slowly until his eyes are dry again.

 

"Yeah, I'm fine." He's certain that's the most convincing lie he's ever told. "What is it?" he asks, forcing himself to sound dispassionate.

 

-

 

This feels like time travel to Midorima. Or perhaps like déjà vu. Like the old days, when they were teenagers and Midorima had no idea how to express himself in any way other than dissatisfaction and criticism. Like the very beginning of their friendship, when he would concoct the most transparently grandiose excuses to check in or say hello or sum up the courage to propose they meet up for anything unrelated to basketball. It feels like that but much, much harder.

 

The sound of movement on Takao’s end snaps him out of that thought.

 

“How... how are you?” he asks, trying to sound as neutral as possible but feeling he is failing miserably. He noticed some time ago that with Takao gone, the progress he made with his social skills over the years began to revert. Even aside from expressing himself, he's back to having a poor grasp of how he comes across to others. And without Takao's facial cues to read, this conversation is an excellent example of that particular shortcoming.

 

“Is something wrong?” Takao replies, ignoring the question.

 

 

“No, I...” Midorima quickly considers answering that honestly—saying yes, _everything_ is wrong, so much has been wrong since he left—but decides it would be inappropriate and just awkward at best. “I’m calling to apologize.”

 

-

 

Takao's brow furrows further. He hadn't expected that.

 

And has no idea what it means.

 

 _God_ , he wishes he was less drunk. He feels stupid through the haze, too emotionally dumbed down to react to this in the right way.

 

Maybe... maybe he means...

 

“What?” he asks, unable to think of anything else to say.

 

“I should have responded to you earlier. Far earlier.”

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

 

A different feeling wells up in Takao now, replacing the dread and anxiety quickly and completely.

 

“You should have 'responded’?” He can hear the impatience and incredulity in his own voice. So much for being dispassionate.

 

“Y-yes. It was... I was needlessly cold to you. I had no good reason for ignoring your attempts to contact me. I was... hurt and... scared, if I'm being honest... of-of facing you after what happened. Of... acknowledging how our relationship changed in that way. It was...” There's a sigh on the other end. "Supremely selfish."

 

“ _Ha!_ ” The sharp laugh leaves Takao's lips without him meaning it to. The smile on his face is wide but there is no joy in it. “Yeah, okay, Shin—” He sighs, unbelievably, _devastatingly_  frustrated. It was stupid to think he'd apologize for what caused this. Very, very stupid. “Yeah, okay.” When Shintarou is certain he's right, that's the end of it. It doesn't feel right calling him by his nickname now. In fact, it feels more like... like...

 

Like he doesn't deserve to fucking hear it.

 

“You call me after the better part of a year to apologize about _that_ of all fuckin’ things...” Takao mumbles, bringing his wine glass to his lips for comfort.

 

-

 

There is a strange quality to Takao's speech, almost as if he is... slurring? That can't be right, it's the middle of the day. And the amount it usually takes him to get like that is... Midorima disregards the thought.

 

“Is that all?” Takao asks.

 

This isn't working at all like he'd hoped.

 

He’s definitely made him angry.

 

Fuck, he really should have thought of what to say first.

 

_Fuck!_

 

He's ruining this. Again. Losing him. Again.

 

And after finally hearing his voice after so long.

 

“I-I... I just want you to know that I'm sorry I ignored you," he says, trying again. He wants to say the right thing. He wants Takao to understand. "I'm sorry if I _ever_ made you feel ignored.”

 

-

 

Takao scoffs before finishing his glass in two large gulps.

 

 

“I don't feel anything anymore, Midorima.”

 

 

Takao empties the remainder of the bottle into his glass.

 

The other end is silent. He must be at a loss for words.

 

...Good.

 

After what seems an eternity, Midorima simply utters a hollow, “I see.”

 

Takao traces the stem of his glass anxiously as the line goes quiet again. Breaking the silence, he repeats his last question.

 

 

 

 

“Is that all?”

 

 

 

“I... yes. That's it.”

 

 

 

“Bye, then.”

 

 

 

“Goodbye.”

 

 

 

 

After the call ends, Takao turns the TV on, immediately turning the volume way up.

 

A distraction.

 

Any distraction.

 

Keep drinking.

 

Just keep drinking.

 

That was not a victory.

 

It didn't feel good in the slightest.

 

Maybe he'll go out tonight.

 

He never goes out to drink anymore.

 

His friends stopped accepting his invites—even when he offers to treat them.

 

Miyaji told him to “get help.”

 

Even Kise had used the word “enabler.”

 

 

The two of them have always been so dramatic.

 

 

The TV isn't loud enough. It needs to be louder.

 

Louder than the thoughts.

 

Louder than the crying.

 

Louder than the echo of that shattered, empty statement.

 

_'I see.'_

 

* * *

 

 

What a spectacular failure that was.

What exactly does Takao even mean by that?

He feels nothing?

About the breakup? About the ignored messages?

He hadn't meant he stopped loving him... had he?

 

He... he couldn't have.

It's only been nine months.

Nine months isn't enough to erase seven years of a relationship.

And a  _damn good_ one, at that.

 

 

Unless... Takao found someone?

 

 

 _...Why_ did he call him Midorima at the end?

 

 

Is there anything else he could have said?

 

 

He never anticipated Takao would be cold.

 

 

So unexcited to hear his voice.

 

 

...Is that where the problem truly lies?

 

 

That underneath it all, he had the expectation of affection and forgiveness—even when he's undeserving?

 

 

He swallows down the despair manifesting as a lump in his throat.

 

 

 

...Where does he go from here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter features the scene that is responsible for this entire story. i'm super excited to finally get started on it in earnest. here's hoping that with the publication of this chapter, my writer's block is somewhat alleviated. 
> 
> please leave a comment if you have any thoughts <3
> 
> ah, and sorry for how painful this one was :|


	10. 10 months - part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rock, meet bottom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally one whole chapter, but recently evolved into this. There's three parts to it (it's a very hectic month for Takao, what with the chickens coming home to roost) and the scene that I've mentioned inspired the story itself is in the last part. Be patient with me and I promise some timely updates for this multi-part chapter!
> 
> Enjoy the longest month everrr

_This_

_city_

_is_

_driving_

_me_

_crazy._

Takao thinks it when he leaves his tiny apartment at 6 in the morning in order to get to work by 9. He thinks it when there are no seats on the bus, on the train, or on the second bus.

He thinks it while his boss talks to him about his performance or his appearance or something like that.

He thinks it as he fights a swarm of strangers to get a bartender's attention after work. 

He thinks it when he walks by the Korean restaurant he and his ex-boyfriend went to last year.

When he passes an antique shop he bought a lucky item from a few years back.

 

That café they'd meant to check out.

 

The movie theater. 

 

The mall.

 

Ugh.

 

This city is driving him _fucking_ crazy. 

 

He gets home from work one day and immediately cracks open a beer. He'll just drink a few and turn in early. Sure, “a few” these days usually ends up being a six-pack and maybe one or two more on top of that, but he's going straight to bed anyway, so what does it matter?

 

Well.

 

It matters that after the first case, Takao isn't ready to sleep anymore. Then hunger (an elusive, endangered feeling of late) settles in. He opens the fridge to find it totally devoid of anything that could pass for food, or even just ingredients. Some ketchup, a lone egg, the very last remnants of a jug of milk. 

 

Garbage. 

 

Jeez, has he really been eating out _this_ much?

 

A quick trip to the corner store results in a bento lunch, ice cream, a liter of cola, and another case of beer. Just so he won't have to buy a new case for a little while.

He eats and it's like he performed a magic act on his food, it's gone that quick. And then he decides to wash it all down with another beer, maybe two since he actually really likes the taste of this particular brand. He surfs through the channels on TV, restless and bored, until, for some reason, his hand stills on the remote. Some sort of nature documentary is on and it seems familiar... 

 

No, he's definitely watched this before. 

 

Half-asleep and wrapped up in someone's arms. 

 

... 

 

Before he knows it, the second case is destroyed. 

 

Officially drunk as fuck, he reasons, 

_I'm already twelve beers deep—might as well keep goin’._

 

The only problem is the mess of scattered empty beer cans and bottles. 

 

He could go back to the corner store...

 

...Or he can stay put and finally drink that stupidly strong whiskey he bought on a whim earlier this year.

 

* * *

 

Three and a half sloppy jack and cokes and about a thousand pent up visits to the toilet later, Takao isn't feeling so hot. 

 

OK. 

 

He's worse than that. 

 

He's sick.

 

Like, _really_ sick.

 

He needs someone to come check on him. Or come get him. Watch him. Something.

 

He can't be alone right now. The room is spinning so intensely despite him being completely still and it feels like his blood has somehow been replaced with sludge. 

 

He feels so, _so_ sick.

 

It's a small miracle that he manages to retrieve his phone from between the couch cushions. Lying on his stomach, hoping that will make everything stop spinning sooner, he brings his phone as close to his face as possible and opens up his contacts. Even then, it's like his phone is in a different language or caught between worlds or some shit—heavily distorted and almost impossible to understand.

His first impulse is to call Miyaji “Seriously, call me if you're not OK” Kiyoshi but even in this unprecedented drunken state, Takao knows he can't. He'd be too mad. There’d be yelling.

He really can't handle yelling right now.

Kuroko’s phone goes straight to voicemail so it must be off. It's kinda late and a Friday night... he's probably cuddlin up to Kagami and hasn't had time to charge his phone… or somethin…

He lingers over Shintarou's name for a full minute, probably longer, opening and closing the contact page over and over again. Carefully, though. If he isn't careful, he might accidentally press call. He's definitely working. At the absolute best, he's already in bed after getting off of some inhumanely long shift at the hospital.

 

...Would he come?

 

Probably...

 

But he can't see him like this...

 

 

God _damn_ does he feel sick.

 

 

He ends up calling Kise.

 

 

“Hello?” Takao can't place it but there's loud background noise. Like... conversation. A lot of people talking.

“Kise,” he mumbles. He tries again, knowing that was too quiet. "Kise..." 

“Hi, Takaocchi!” He sounds really excited. Happy. “I haven't heard from you in forever, how are you?”

“..'m sick...”

“Huh?”

“I had the beers and... the bees made me sad... 'm too sick. Gonna throw up... g’nna...”

 _Fuck_ , talking is way harder than he thought it would be. Thank god he didn't call Shin-chan.

“Takaocchi? What's going on?? Did you say you're sick?”

“It's...” Takao takes a shallow breath in. “I don't.." He already forgot what Kise just said. Doesn't he understand? "I-I'm sick...”

“Takaocchi??”

Takao hangs up. He tried. It was way too hard. All at once, the sleepiness from earlier comes back and his eyes are heavy and his body sinks into the couch and he has a vague feeling that he shouldn't let himself fall asleep but it's happening anyway and he would do anything—anything—to escape the spinning at this point. 

 

Maybe it's not so bad.

 

He can probably just sleep it off, after all.

 

* * *

 

Takao wakes up and it isn't morning. He feels like he's been out for ages but everything looks exactly the same. He can't dwell on that at the moment, though. He needs to get up. He needs to get up and pee.

Just as he's resolving to do so, his phone starts vibrating and it makes his head feel funny cause its stuck to his cheek. He groans, _really_ not liking that feeling. Once he's peeled it off his face, he presses answer. He doesn't even bother trying to see who it is first; there's no photo and he is confident he would not be able to read the name. 

“Let me in, I’m outside.”

“H... huh?”

“It's Kasamatsu. Come get the door.”

 

* * *

 

“Yeah, I've got him. Yeah, he just drank too much. No, I think he'll be fine.”

Kasamatsu's conversation with Kise serves as the comforting, relaxing soundtrack to Takao's violent but almost eerily quiet vomiting. About ten minutes ago, he managed to take a piss pretty neatly before his body crumbled and the heaving started and Kasamatsu thankfully heard him and barged in. His jeans aren't even zipped all the way but his old roommate is there anyway, crouched by his side, holding his hair with one hand and rubbing his back with the other, phone cradled against his shoulder.

“I'm not sure. Mhm. Yeah.”

Kasamatsu's voice is actually very calming.

“OK. Yeah, I'll let you know. Thanks for calling me. 'Night.” Kasamatsu’s hand leaves his back for a moment as he puts his phone away but it's back in an instant.

“C’mon, let it all out and then you're drinking a _ton_ of water.”

Takao shivers and nods.

When they're back on the couch, though, Takao can only barely keep said water down. 

“Are you trying?” Kasamatsu asks, firm and even-toned as always. Takao nods through another shiver. “I don't like all this shaking, man... Are you cold?”

He _is_ cold, now that he mentions it. Kasamatsu's thick brows furrow when he just keeps shivering instead of answering. Takao can only kind of hear him, his voice is fuzzing out. Things are going black... It was something about him looking pale...

....

...

..

.

 

“ _Hey!_ _Wake up!_ ” Kasamatsu barks, snapping him back from the very edge of consciousness. Takao says something, or tries to, about how weird he feels. He must not have said it right cause now Kasamatsu looks more worried than ever. 

 

“OK, I'm taking you to the hospital.”

 

Oh.

 

 _That_ he does hear clearly.

 

“No!” he slurs. “No! Not Shin-chan!”

Kasamatsu’s look of concern morphs into one of... annoyance? Impatience? “ _What?_ " Ah, disbelief with a _hint_ of annoyance. "What the _hell_ are you talking about!? Focus on what matters!”

Despite the fuss Takao puts up in pleading that he be taken to any hospital but Shin-chan's, Kasamatsu manages to support him on his feet long enough to get him out of his apartment, walk him down the stairs, and sit him in the passenger's seat of his car.

"I wanna lay down...” Takao complains once the driver's door shuts. He's still cold but now he's sweating and the last thing he wants is to have to support any part of himself, whether that be his neck or his entire torso. 

“Well, you _need_ to be sitting up,” Kasamatsu retorts as he straps Takao in.

“Yukio...”

“Yeah?”

“Am... am I...” Takao can't focus his vision on anything, he's unbearably cold, and his blood feels thick, _so thick_ , like his veins are too tight. He can't get a decent breath no matter how badly he wants to and he's worried.

 

He's... _scared._

 

He's _really_ _scared._

 

Everything becomes even blurrier and he can feel his face getting flush and wet. He tries to keep his nose from running, sniffling hard. 

 

“Am I gonna die?”

 

Kasamatsu sighs heavily. He pats Takao's head once before mussing up his hair a bit.

 

“You're gonna be fine. You just definitely have alcohol poisoning.”

 

“O-oh...” Takao sniffles again. “OK...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is brought to you by my firm belief that Kasamatsu Yukio is the best guardian angel one could hope for. 
> 
> Midorima's hospital isn't even near being the closest one to Takao's place, but for obvious reasons Takao wasn't thinking very clearly. 
> 
> If you ever find yourself caring for someone who you suspect is experiencing severe alcohol poisoning ('severe' cause intoxication is really just alcohol poisoning anyway), I think the three golden rules are keep 'em awake, give 'em water, and make sure they are able to puke if they need to (...not to be confused with making them puke). This site has a great, simple guide: http://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/215627.php
> 
> Important if you have friends who drink—just in case.
> 
> *insert the more you know rainbow*


End file.
